


but i've no need for mighty deeds (when i feel your arms around me)

by craigtherewhoisahomosexual (Ashtarok)



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, Elf Kyle, FANTASY FARMER AU HELL YEAH LADS, Kyle: ok, M/M, SO SORRY, South Park: The Stick of Truth, WTF, aka the best fucking thing lads, anyway uhhh sorry, fantasy check, farmer? check, lmao idk, sparky is a dragon, stan: LOOK AT MY BABEY, staring at a dragon decked out in a lil outfit and dripping blood from just eating, this is all for mara i hate her i do, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtarok/pseuds/craigtherewhoisahomosexual
Summary: Stan's dragon is sick, but Kyle's here to save the day.





	but i've no need for mighty deeds (when i feel your arms around me)

**Author's Note:**

> BLAME [MARA](https://dudemarsh.tumblr.com/)  
> I DO
> 
> I listened to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tEYV6QBw0E)  
> like 400 million times for this i am. soft
> 
> I’m gonna watch HTTYD again and also sorry this probably sucks I’m not so great w style but I Try (also its 2 am I got work in 6 hours n this isn’t beta’d!!!)

Kyle took a deep, steadying breath, grimaced, then massaged the hippogriff’s side, wincing as she shifted uncomfortably and broke wind. “There’s a good girl,” he praised softly, pulling his hanging chart off her pen and writing down that the mineral oil he’d dripped into her stomach through a nasogastric tube had assisted in easing her stomach pain. She was colicking something awful, constantly kicking her belly with her back hooves and making these pitiful, weak screeching sounds while pawing the earth with her talons. 

Just another day as a beastmaster veterinarian. Kyle patted Nessie’s side and kissed her neck feathers gently, trying to soothe her pain a little more. He pulled out a final dose of banamine and held her still as he dribbled it all over her tongue, ignoring her beating wings and the beak that attempted to snap his fingers off. Releasing her had the hippogriff calming quickly, tail swishing as she headbutted his shoulder and screamed, a piercing, cacophonous cry that made his ears hurt. Perks of elven hearing, really.

After opening the gate to let her rejoin the rest of her flock, Kyle slapped her rump and Nessie jolted forwards to greet them, obviously feeling significantly better as she trotted up to her fellow hippogriffs and promptly answered nature’s call. No more colic. Kyle sighed and wiped off his forehead, delicately removing his gloves and smiling wryly. It’d been a long morning so far; Mr. Denkins had called the clinic at 5:30am panicking over his prized mare. Luckily it’d been a semi-easy, if not quick, fix.

“That should be all, sir,” Kyle said politely, packing up his kit. Mr. Denkins thanked him with a gruff mutter of appreciation and tip of his hat. Kyle held in his sigh and forced a tight smile, adding it to the rancher’s running tab. It was alright. Despite the fact he’d been here nearly a year and had saved at least half of the livestock in this damn redneck town— he was still treated as an outcast, a freak, the one who never belonged. Kyle had moved away from his entire life to pursue his dream of treating humans. But they didn’t want an elf handling them, so he’d been forcibly downgraded to animals. 

Kyle tossed his tools into his saddle bag, jaw tense Don’t get him wrong— he enjoyed his job. It felt like he’d really found his calling and the bonus of baby animals was fantastic. There was a significant amount more shit than he’d ever predicted, but he loved what he did, even if he hated the reasoning behind it. Good enough to handle Mr. Denkins’ prized herd of hippogriffs but not get his hand shaken after. Good enough to treat important livestock that would become their food. Good enough to put a precious family member to eternal rest with dignity. But not good enough, never good enough, to work on humans. The place was crawling with bigots, and he worked under the worst one of the entire realm of Zaron. 

Speaking of which… Kyle sighed as he brought out his small scrying glass, tapping its surface twice and murmuring, “the clinic.” Cartman’s horrid face appeared shortly afterwards, sweaty and looking like he was rather upset with the fact he was in the middle of dealing with a very angry cockatrice.

“Hurry up, there’s a dragon relaxing by the front hitching post because of fucking Stan,” Cartman told him, yelling as the little beast briefly came into view just long enough to bite his nose. “And I’m a little busy, elf! I don’t want a repeat of the last time there was a dragon in our waiting room.” He was referring, of course, to the time a young, hormone-struck wyvern tried to mate with their clinic pet, a chimera Cartman insisted was a fine match for the office space— up until there were two 800-pound monsters wrestling in their foyer.

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can,” Kyle assured, not particularly wanting another awful clean-up like the one they dealt with that day. Mr. Chimmy hadn’t been the same since, if he was being completely honest. He now avoided all their scaly patients like the plague. For their part to try to prevent anything like that from ever happening again, the clinic policy was now if your pet was not under your control they could refuse treatment. Of course, Cartman was too greedy to ever have exercised that right, but they had it listed now.

“You better be!” Cartman yelled, cursing loudly as he struck a meaty fist out and managed to grab the cockatrice by one of its chicken legs. “Now get going!” Kyle hurriedly tapped the scrying glass to end the call then stuck it in his pocket with a slightly vindictive smile. At least he wasn’t about to pull a lodged bone out of an angry cockatrice’s throat with his bare hand. His horse snorted quietly in supposed agreement and Kyle patted her shoulder with an appreciative sigh. He mounted the mare quickly and nudged his heels into her flanks, so that they took off at an easy gallop back to work. 

It was a mercifully short ride and as they rounded the bend into town, it was easy to spot the dragon occupying most of the front yard of the clinic. Kyle’s heart skipped several important beats as he caught sight of Stan holding its leash tightly, rubbing its scaly belly and looking beyond worried for his pet. He dismounted his horse and tied her to the hitching post to drink and relax a moment, quickly striding over to Stan and his sick animal.

“Hey, Stan! How are you? What seems to be the problem?” Kyle asked, pulling a pen out from behind one of his ears and whipping out a clean chart, where he penciled in Stan’s name under  _ Owner _ . 

The dragon grunted darkly, smoke pouring from its nostrils as it eyed the elf in a distinctly interested way. It was a lovely brown color, with darker splotches randomly dappled in, and so well taken care of its scales shone in the light. An expertly crafted harness encased it, like a gigantic dog. There was a big, pink bandana tied tightly around the base of its throat, a messily embroidered ‘Sparky’ in jagged stitches adorning the front. It was singed on one corner. Kyle was just glad it was a young adult, its size that of an elephant rather than a whale, and, after a brief, inconspicuous look under its tail, it was a male. He marked all that down too, then turned to his… friend? 

Kyle wasn’t sure what label the humans would use, but he knew the elf one. Humans could be so picky about their terms for each other— Stan was probably what they’d call a crush, only deeper, and forged in friendship. Love, maybe? Kyle could list it in a few simple words in elvish, Stan’s importance to him, but it was lost in translation. Stan mattered; Stan mattered a lot.

He’d been there from the start, a sole friendly face in a land full of distrustful people and strange, new customs. He was there at the market when Kyle fucked up after his first, exhausting week and brought elvish coins instead of human, too out of it to remember to do the exchange rate— and bought all of his groceries for him, waving off any chance of Kyle paying him back. He was there when Kyle began to get lonely and tired of eating every dinner with his pet squirrel; Mara was sweet and nice to let nibble on his shoulder, but nothing beat being able to hear Stan’s stories of childhood and share his own in return. He was there after Kyle had to euthanize his first patient, told him there was no shame in crying when he broke down mid lunch over an old work dog and how broken her master had looked after. Stan was always there for him.

And now, judging from the absolute fear and worry furrowing marks into his normally happy face, Kyle needed to be there for Stan.

“I’ve raised Sparky since he was hatched,” Stan blurted out anxiously, fiddling with the leather leash between his hands and frowning at his dragon. “He’s the youngest adult of the entire thunder we have and sort of my… favorite,” he muttered under his breath, the dragon blinking one big yellow eye at Stan and snorting out a bunch of smoke, a gravelly chortle that sounded like rocks clashing together escaping his chest. “But I love them all!” Stan insisted immediately, glaring up at Sparky with a scowl. “They’re all my favorites!”

Kyle nodded seriously, pen still poised as he waited for more information, such as what actually brought them here today. Stan sighed and the worried look returned to his face as he started rubbing Sparky’s front shoulder, petting him.

“He’s been off his feed for days, he doesn’t want to move very much at all— I had to practically drag him here, which is highly unusual since he usually welcomes any chance to get out of the compound— and his stomach-ish area is super hard and kinda. Weird looking. I dunno how to explain it,” Stan told him, eyes traveling along Sparky’s majestic form to spot anymore visible anomalies. “He’s not my usual happy boy and I want him fixed. Please help us,” he begged Kyle. “He wouldn’t even eat when I offered his favorite! Sparky never turns down sheep stomach and he did.” 

From the almost panic on Stan’s face, Kyle was able to tell he was feeling very concerned for the well-being of his favorite mount. Stan had been a dragonkeeper for about a year now, almost as long as Kyle had been a training veterinarian, but he’d done things the smart way and actually built his way up to handling and riding dragons from less powerful, smaller magical creatures. Truthfully, Stan loved all manner of beasts and it was absolutely precious to watch how excited he’d get. God, Kyle would never forget the sheer excitement he’d seen from Stan when he brought him into the clinic to meet a newborn unicorn who had been found in the middle of a road, abandoned. Personally, in Kyle’s strong opinion, there were few things cuter than Stan feeding and holding baby animals. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Kyle assured Stan quietly. “He looks powerful, sleek, and in very good shape. Everything is going to be alright.” Kyle snapped on some gloves and asked Sparky to get up. A low rumble escaped the dragon, but he did so, lumbering to his feet and standing solidly for Kyle to start his examination. He felt muscled, lean, and not in pain. His eyes dilated when they were supposed to, his lungs sounded clear, his spark was lit inside his chest, nice and hot and bright, his temperature was normal, and a quick poke through the dung sample the dragon had left beside the clinic confirmed no abnormalities there.

The only thing unusual was Sparky’s slightly distended abdomen, hard and tense. There appeared to be no pain when Kyle pressed on it, and no other stomach troubles seemed to haunt him. Kyle marked everything down in his chart and started reviewing it, Stan watching like an anxious mother hen as he paced beside his stoic pet. After a few moments of tense silence, Kyle broke it with a quiet laugh.

“Stan. Stanley, come here,” he said gently, setting his chart on the porch railing of the clinic and offering Stan one hand delicately. Stan took his grasp, sweating ridiculously and shaking, and Kyle thoughtlessly pressed a kiss to his knuckles, rubbing his thumb soothingly along them after. “It’s all okay.” He walked them over to Sparky’s front, the dragon knowingly watching with those clever yellow eyes. “Sparky,” Kyle addressed the dragon directly. “Won’t you show Stan and I your very precious cargo?” 

A deep sigh escaped Sparky as he reluctantly spat smoke and crouched, curling into the ground as his wings flared up around him like a barrier. Slowly, he eased back into a squat, tail curled protectively around a small clutch of 3 football-sized eggs. They were a soft off-white color, leathery, and clearly tended to, not a single smudge of dirt on any of them. Stan gasped instantly, hands flying up to his mouth to muffle the noise sheepishly.

“How?!” he shouted. Sparky growled, soft but thick enough to shake the ground, and Stan quieted instantly, cheeks heating up. “Sorry, Sparks. How?” he asked again, at a much more reasonable decibel. Sparky carefully nosed at his eggs, long tongue sliding out and shifting them around a little with surprisingly delicate grace. 

“They aren’t his; he’s obviously not got the parts,” Kyle said, nodding as Sparky started to tuck the eggs back into his pouch for them. “My guess is he either found an abandoned clutch, which is the most likely option considering how few there are, or he stole them.” Sparky went full poker face, giving no hints as to which was the more accurate case, but Stan didn’t seem to care either way, eyes brimming with tears as he stared at the eggs in silent awe.

“Sparky! You’re gonna have a bunch of babies! We haven’t had hatchlings since  _ you  _ were a hatchling!” Stan shouted at him, voice watery and smile almost too big. Sparky returned the affection, very carefully picking up the last egg before he tucked it away and holding it out in his clawed fist. Stan carefully ran his fingers along its shell, breath caught in his throat. He smiled, pressed a careful kiss to the top of the little oval, and encouraged Sparky to safely put it away— which the dragon did so immediately.

“So. Sparky isn’t sick. Isn’t dying, perfect health, actually— he’s just. Gonna be a mother,” Kyle announced, relieved. Stan shook his head in bewildered amazement and sighed raggedly, tugging at his hair and laughing.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Stan whistled. “That was definitely not what I expected.”

“He’s not hungry because he’s using all of his energy to guard and tend the eggs. Once they hatch, he’ll need extra food and maybe some supplements— I can get those prescribed for you now to fill afterwards?” Kyle offered calmly. Stan looked at him, clearly still bubbly from the news, and promptly pulled him into a tight hug. Kyle reciprocated immediately, cheeks flushing as he enjoyed the feeling of Stan’s strong arms around him. 

“Thank you, Kyle,” Stan said humbly. “Thank you so much. I’m so relieved. I’m so happy!” He started laughing all over again, and Kyle’s stomach fluttered at the joyful sound. They embraced for a few precious moments— then Stan released him. Gods, the world felt a bit colder without Stan’s touch. Kyle sighed thickly and smiled at him, ignoring the ridiculous fluttering of his pulse.

“It is always my pleasure to assist you, Stan,” Kyle told him quietly. “And it always will be.” He meant it more than Stan probably knew, but he was content— for now— with this; genuine, deep, mutual trust. That was all he needed, after all. Stan happy and sharing that happiness with him. 

“I’m going to get us home, share the good, crazy news,” Stan sighed, patting Sparky’s side and grinning like a fool. “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow! And if you don’t think I’m getting ahold of you as soon as they start hatching— well. Dead wrong.”

Kyle watched Stan walk off with his newly-confirmed male mother dragon, his heart almost unbearably fond. Undoubtedly, Stan holding a trio of baby dragons would be one of the absolute best things he’d ever see, he was sure. 

(He was right. It was up there in his top ten, spot one having claimed it with Stan at their wedding ceremony, decked out in traditional elvish matrimonial garb and shyly promising to love him until their bodies grew roots and sprouted trees that would tangle themselves into eternity, so you didn’t know where one ended and the other began— and beyond.) 

**Author's Note:**

> help me i am so bad at style :((( anyway here [my tumblr](https://craigtherewhoisahomosexual.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
